Confession
by Galiko
Summary: Vincent makes Gilbert hot and bothered just with words.


Vincent would readily confess that he has a certain talent with words.

Put to better use, and perhaps he could have been a writer – maybe a speaker, of sorts. He has been told that he can charm the skin off of a snake, but he thinks, perhaps, he is the snake himself; his words a slithery, writhing thing that always,_always_ get him what he wants, from women – and men – alike.

So unlike his precious brother.

Ah, but he realizes he and Gilbert are a study in opposites, and he finds his brother's social awkwardness _charming_; implicitly adorable, if he could put a true label to it. While he is a study in fine words and saccharine smiles and poisonous deception, Gilbert is a mirror of sweetness and shyness and sincere unsureness, ripe for some unscrupulous gentleman or lady to sweep up to him and ruin him.

Of course, Vincent would never let that happen.

Admittedly, his own words twist their way around Gilbert sometimes – manipulating, however so _gently_, his brother as need be. Gilbert needs such protections, after all. Gilbert is so very smart and strong, but he is weak to words if the hit is just right, whereas Vincent thrives on the challenge of semantics and gossip and _lies_.

The only words he has ever uttered that he is sure are not a lie, after all, are that_he would do anything for his brother._

It is because of such things that Vincent often finds he simply can't _resist_. Gilbert, so utterly perfect, even while slaving away in a kitchen, dressed down to dark slacks and a simple, white button down, minimalist elegance not marred by the linen apron tied about his waist but sort of cutely accented. The waves of his dark hair are pulled back by a single ribbon, and Vincent notes, with amusement, that the only time Gilbert is capable of doing it himself is when he wants to work in the kitchen and keep it out of his face. Cute, cute, cute. His brother is so very, intensely_cute_.

How could he resist, with that in mind?

"What are you making, Nii-san?"

Gilbert starts, as he always does, because Vincent knows well that he is as skilled at slipping in unnoticed as he is at making a striking entrance. But Gilbert settles just as quickly when he realizes it is his younger brother, and Vincent takes pride in knowing Gil is comfortable around him – a sort of sick enjoyment, when really, Gilbert should be anything _but_.

"Ah – Vince. I was going to make dinner; tonight is when Elliot wants the entire family to eat together, remember? That's why you're in town, right?"

"Un, un." Vincent drapes himself, a splay of long, svelte limbs, into a chair, his head tilting to the side as he watches. "Of course." And then he smiles. "But I'm not here in this room right now for that."

Gilbert blinks, _looks_ at him, and then his expression goes wry with understanding. "Vincent – I'm busy – "

"I know." The smile deepens. If it had been any less sweet, it would have been a smirk, and Vincent's gaze lids – trained so intensely upon Gilbert that it might have seared into his back. "I promise I won't lay a finger upon you, Nii-san."

The suspicion in Gilbert's stare is palpable, and Vincent knows he isn't believed. "… Then – "

"Let me just tell you what I want to happen later, then."

Gilbert opens his mouth, then closes it again. Vincent can imagine what is going through his head: 'Perhaps if I let him get it out of his system, he will leave me alone and let me work.'

"Well – all right – I guess – " Pale skin flushed, a little embarrassed to admit he wanted to hear it, maybe. So cute.

"I want to eat you alive."

Vincent waits, letting the weight of those words set in – letting his brother's flush deepen, rising hot on his cheekbones and spreading darker down his neck. It's all in the tone of voice, too; low and breathy and letting his own arousal seep through, sticky as he'd like to make Gilbert. Sticky as he'd like to make _himself_ be, underneath Gilbert's hand. He licks his lips and leans forward, head in his hand as he just _watches_, seeing all too clearly that he now has his brother's attention, from the way Gilbert sets his knife down, turns partially away from the countertop.

"That apron is cute… but I want it off. To the floor, with your belt – pants – all of it, so I can see you, every inch of you. You like it, Nii-san, don't you? When I'm on my knees in front of you – nuzzling between your legs – and you're so perfect, you know. So long and thick and _hard_ – " A breathless sound – an exhale of toxic desire that nearly sent him springing from his chair to grab hold of Gilbert. "Are you hard now, Nii-san? With the thought of me in front of you like that, wrapping my lips around you and swallowing every inch of you?"

A strangled sound leaves Gilbert's throat, and it's every answer Vincent could have dreamed of. Delicious, to watch his brother squirm, and Gilbert _does_; shifting from one foot to the other, turning, embarrassedly, back to face the counter with his fingers clenched against its edge.

"Vince – that's enough – "

"But Nii-san… you like to grab my hair, don't you?" Vincent's words are a purr, a devilish, relentless purr. "You like to sink your hands into it… and drag my mouth down your cock. You like the sounds I make – the way you can make me choke a little, don't you? Just enough that it strokes your ego a bit, to know that I have to_try_ to take all of you, but I'm enjoying it so much that I'm moaning while I'm sucking you off." The mismatched gaze lids. "How about now, Nii-san?"

Gilbert's grip on the counter is white-knuckled. "U…un," he mutters, embarrassed and so obviously, very aroused.

With that answer, how could he stop? "You're not satisfied with that, are you?" Merciless – Vincent knows he is merciless, but with Gilbert like this, so turned on and hot and twitching with every word from his lips, there is no helping it. The way a bead of sweat rolls down his brother's jaw – the way his fingers curl against the countertop – Vincent is already addicted to it. Wants to touch. Wants to taste. Wants wants wants and it is the most exquisite torture to deny himself that – to wait and watch and just – simply – _want_. "It could be enough… but I want you to fuck me."

And he lets that sit, watches Gilbert's body _twinge_ with the suggestion, breathes in the same, shaky, unsteady breath. "I want you inside of me – bending me over the counter – whatever oil I have with me, slicking you just enough that you sink in _so~_easily… stretching me wide, and I'm mewling like a cat in heat, back arched, grinding back against you, begging, crying for you to just _fuck me_ – " Vincent leans forward. "You remember how tight I am, don't you, Nii-san? How good I feel around you, hot and slick and gripping you – "

Gilbert jerks, shuddering, twitching, and Vincent straightens, smile intensely amused as he realizes his brother was much, much closer than he thought. He's biting his lip, trying not to whimper as he comes – without as much as a touch to himself, spilling himself so shamelessly right there as he holds onto the counter like it's a lifeline. Or perhaps Gil is imagining the counter to be his hips – lean and white and so easily bruised. At least, Vincent would like to think those are Gilbert's thoughts. He also likes to imagine Gilbert throbbing as he shoves and twists his hips into him, spilling every drop of himself deep into Vincent's body – it makes him shudder to think about it. He swallows, dryly, the smile briefly wavering.

"…Sorry," Gil is stuttering, and Vincent laughs, then, soft and easy and light.

"Whatever are you sorry for?" And Vincent rises, slipping closer as Gilbert pants and shivers still, too shaken to even begin attempting to clean himself up. "I should be apologizing for interrupting you." A hand slips southward, brushing a narrow hip, and Gilbert jerks, blushes again, squeaking protests –

"_V- Vincent_ – "

"Hush, Nii-san." To his knees he falls, and Vincent's smile is that of the devil as he looks up at his brother, pretty words come to life. He's breaking a promise, though, isn't he? Fortunately, Gilbert rarely seems to mind. "This is my fault – at least let me clean it up."


End file.
